


Puberty And Other Shitty Things That Happen In High School

by arcanee



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Peter Parker, Bisexuality, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Light Angst, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Michelle Jones is also a Good Bro, Minor Original Character(s), Mutual Pining, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker has ADHD, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Substance Abuse, Teen Angst, Underage Substance Use, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2018-12-02 19:33:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11515965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanee/pseuds/arcanee
Summary: “So…. this MJ girl? Are you interested in her?” said May, not looking up from her take out container.“What? No! No! N-no, MJ is just a friend!” Peter exclaimed.“Oh, oh. So….” May said, raising her chopsticks to her lips and taking a bite of her chow fun. “Are there any girls you like at this school?”“Uhh, no. No.” Peter wouldn’t meet her eyes as he took another bite of his chow mein.“Any boys?"“Well… There is this new guy in my Early English Literature class named Harry."(Currently revising before posting future updates.)





	1. talk about subtle, parker

**Author's Note:**

> Harry Osborn's supposed to pretty much look like his once-rumored actor for Homecoming, Charlie Rowe. Comments are very much appreciated, as are kudos. It lets me know if and when I actually should update this.

  
Peter hated his English class and hated his life. Okay, so maybe that was a little dramatic. He had an okay life. But his English class sucked royally.

It wasn’t like he hated English or his teacher or anything. He actually had loved the class a couple weeks ago. That was before a new kid, Harry, had been introduced in the class and just so happened to have the seat in front of him. The new guy wasn't particularly annoying or anything, nor was he rude to Peter. In fact, he hadn't even ever spoken to Peter before. Despite this, Peter had a huge crush on him.

Before he had met this guy… Well less met and more seen, but, anyways, before Peter had seen this guy he hadn't even known he liked guys. But everytime he saw the guy he mentally drooled and every time he heard him talk he shivered like it was twenty degrees. He hated this thing, this crush. It was so annoying.

It made him think of Liz and that crush he had on her. He was constantly comparing the crushes, how they made him feel, and he couldn't really see a difference between the crushes besides the obvious gender fact and that both had this air of unattainability, what with Liz being an out-of-his-league senior and Harry being a (probably straight) guy. Besides, rumor had it that Harry was Harry Osborn, son of the CEO of Oscorp and used to live on the Upper East Side before he got his invitation to their school in Queens. He was totally out of Peter’s league.

He was exiting said hated English class when Michelle- wait, no, it was MJ now- MJ snuck up on him. He didn’t know how she could sneak up on him with his enhanced senses, but she was still somehow able. Sometimes her skills of subterfuge scared him a little.

“Boo!” When Peter had jumped, she laughed. “What’s on your brain Peter?” She asked, squinting her eyes in a mock-accusatory look. “You seemed spacey all period.”

“Nothing, nothing. I’m good,” he said with an awkward smile as he put his hands in his pockets. “Wanna walk with me to Chemistry?” MJ just shrugged and they began walking.

MJ was not particularly daft and knew there was definitely something up with Peter. He was generally awkward, especially when talking to people, even with her and Ned, but he had been so weird lately that she had decided to finally get to the bottom of it. She figured the best way to do that was interrogate him.

“Y’know…. You always seem nervous in English,” she said. Peter just looked at her from the side and quickened his pace. He really didn't want to have this conversation. He may have been good at keeping one secret, but two? He didn’t know if he could handle the pressure of MJ questioning him. She was very persuasive. Very.

“Are you sure you don't wanna tell me something?” MJ said this with a smirk. She could see he was barely containing himself. “Does it have anything to do with that new guy? You've been pretty fidgety since he showed up.” Peter’s eyes bulged. Bingo

Before MJ could ask him another question, they reached Peter’s chemistry lab. “Whoops, I’m almost late! Nice talking to you! See you at lunch! Bye!” Peter shouted as he ran off.

MJ wasn't daft. His weird behavior definitely had something to do with that new kid Harry. Huh.

_________________

At lunch, Peter met up with Ned down the hall before they headed to the cafeteria. They talked about simple stuff on the way there, like what he planned to do tonight (“The usual,” he said. “Haven’t heard anything big lately so I’ll just cruise and see if I can help out where I can, y’know.”) and if he had seen the latest episode of their favorite show. Before long they had reached the cafeteria and got their trays before joining MJ at their table. Peter really hoped she had forgotten about their earlier conversation, but, knowing her, she hadn't.

Sometime during their typical lunchtime argument about if Princess Leia should still be called a princess or if she should be called General Leia (Peter and MJ were for general, Ned was for princess), Peter saw him. Harry Osborn had entered the lunchroom. This was the first time Peter had even seen Harry come to the cafeteria in the two weeks he had been here. He could barely contain himself from staring. Actually, scratch that, he was indeed staring, chin in hand. It reminded him of when he used to stare at Liz from across the lunchroom with Ned.

He was really hoping Ned and MJ were too busy to notice, but, because fate seemed to think it was funny to ruin Peter’s entire life, MJ called him and his goo-goo eyes out. “Hey, Peter, you okay there?”

“Huh?” He didn't even move his head, too busy observing Harry Osborn’s perfect face and perfect hair and perfect body and perfect everything from afar.

“Peter? Peter. Hello?” Ned said, dragging out the last syllable. “Earth to Peter Parker?”

“Wha?” Peter said, snapping himself out of his daydream of Harry coming over to talk to him. He looked over at his friends quizzical expressions and raised eyebrows. Shit, he thought. I’m done for.

“You alright there, tiger?” asked MJ. Peter just nodded, wide eyed, and went back to eating his spaghetti. Riiiiight. Sure Pete. She mentally rolled her eyes and went back to schooling Ned in Star Wars knowledge. Peter had totally been staring at that Osborn kid. Did he really think he was subtle? Peter was by far the worst at keeping secrets. Oh well. No reason to bring it up now in front of Ned. Especially when she was currently beating Ned in a Star Wars debate, a rare feat in itself. Peter’s obvious little crush could wait until they were alone.


	2. a guide to being a great guardian by may parker

  
“Soo… Pete,” said MJ. Peter had a bad feeling about this conversation and it hadn't even started yet.

He stared at her for a silent moment before answering. “Yeah?”

“Let’s talk about your crush.” Peter’s eyes went wide. “I’m tired of beating around the bush, tiger. Spill.”

“I -- I don't know what you're talking about.” He tried to appear relaxed, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. That’s right Parker, keep it casual, loose. MJ snorted.

“You're ridiculous,” she said. When he only raised his eyebrows, she decided to get the foreplay over with. Rip the bandaid off. “You have a big time crush on Osborn.”

Peter tried to resist the urge to outwardly freak out. MJ smirked. “Your bug eyes betray you, Peter. Really, you should get those checked out.”

“Shit,” he said.

  
_________________

 

“So…. this MJ girl? Are you interested in her?” said May, not looking up from her take out container.

“What? No! No! N-no, MJ is just a friend!” Peter exclaimed, dropping one of his chopsticks on the floor. He picked them up and scowled at the piece of dust stuck to the side before reaching to the plastic bag to get replacements.

“Oh, oh. So….” May said, raising her chopsticks to her lips and taking a bite of her chow fun. “Are there any girls you like at this school?”

“Uhh, no. No.” Peter wouldn’t meet her eyes as he took another bite of his chow mein.

“Any boys?”

Peter covered his noodle-filled mouth with his hand in surprise and blushed a deep red.

“So there is a boy!” May smiled in triumph at her successful guess. “Who is he?”

Peter gulped down his food before answering, his face flushed an even deeper red. “How did you know?”

“Ballpark guess.” May looked at him a moment as her nephew, embarrassed, stabbed at his noodles before adding, “And you weren’t as secretive with your One Direction obsession as you thought.”

“Shit,” said Peter, before he shot his head up and apologized.

“Peter I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I don’t care if you cuss in my house.”

“I know but…. It’s not polite.”

May rolled her eyes. “Anyways, about this boy?”

“Do we really have to talk about this?” Peter whined.

“Yes, yes, yes! We do! It my responsibility as a good aunt to ruin your life and embarrass you. C’mon, tell me!”

“Well… There is this new guy in my Early English Literature class named Harry. Osborn. Harry Os-Osborn.”

“Wait, as in the kid of Norman Osborn? As in CEO of Oscorp? Why is he going to a school in Queens? Don’t they live on the Upper East Side with all the other rich types?”

“I don’t know…. I guess he wanted to go to a school with people who could keep up?”

May hummed and took another bite of her chow fun. And then another bite. (It was really good chow fun.) She would have to tease Peter about his crush on the rich kid more. “Does Ned know about your little crush? What about MJ?”

“MJ knows, but I didn’t tell her She’s apparently just really perceptive,” said Peter. He was still blushing a little. He had put down his chow mein to hug his knees to his chest, his body language very clear that he was insecure.

“Hey, hey. Peter. Look at me.” He looked at her, his hair flopping as he brought up his head to eye level. “It’s okay if you’re gay kiddo. It’s 2017. I’m not one of those religious types who care about this sort of thing.”

“I’m- I don’t think I’m gay Aunt May. I still like girls, but… also boys? I don’t know.”

“Bisexual then?” May raised her eyebrows. Peter looked surprised. “What? I’m up with the times! I know the lingo.”

Peter snorted and let his knees fall away from his chest back to the floor. He picked up his chow mein and ate more, gobbling it all in less than a minute.

“Hey slow down there. You don’t wanna get a tummy ache.”

Peter groaned. “Why do you still say ‘tummy ache’? I’m not five anymore.”

May laughed. “You’ll always be my little boy, Petey.” She got up and sat on his chair’s arm before sliding down on top of him and ruffling his hair. Peter squirmed and laughed, trying to get out from under her. “I’m not getting up until you tell me all about this Harry boy!” They both started to giggle as she reached down and began tickling him.

“Okay! Okay!” Peter exclaimed. May finally slid off of him and went back to her chair, drawing in her feet to sit on them and reaching for her take out container from the coffee table.

“He’s uh,” Peter mumbled starting to blush again. “He’s got brown eyes, brown hair. He’s a little taller than me and has my build. He’s in my grade too. And, uhh…”

“You’re describing him like a police sketch. C’mon! What’s he like?” May ginned.

“Well I’ve, uh, only ever, um, talked to him twice.” Peter ducked his head and scratched the back of his neck. He looked at her again and May just raised her eyebrows. “I, um. I borrowed a pencil once and I passed out a book to him.”

“Well. Try to talk to him!”

Peter just groaned. “You sound just like MJ.”

May smiled. “I’m starting to like this girl. You should bring her around more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to bother me for updates by commenting or going to my [tumblr.](http://spacewitcch.tumblr.com)


	3. how to almost stop a drug deal

Later that week, Peter was finishing up a late night patrol near his school, when he heard yelling on the beginning of his route back home. It wasn't in English, but any yelling at this time of night couldn't be good. And sure, the city wasn't dead at this time of night, or any time, ever, but people who were awake and about at this time were usually more, well, criminal. He made his way towards the shouts, swinging from building to building, until he reached its source: an alley.

The alley wasn't well lit, but Peter simply switched on the night vision mode made available by Mr. Stark’s upgrades. “Okay Karen,” Peter whispered, barely audible, “anyone hiding from us besides these three?” He gestured to the three hooded figures below in the alley. They were arguing in what sounded like Russian. When Karen confirmed they were the only two in the nearby vicinity, he asked her to translate.

“We had a deal and you fucked with it!” exclaimed one of them. It was one of the pair standing across from the other, a woman in what looked and sounded like her early thirties. The one next to her was either a really buff man or a really buff lady. Either way, they were mildly intimidating. Peter was still stronger, of course, thanks to the, y’know, super powers. But that meant they couldn't land a good punch or two on him.

The one across from the pair was shorter and leaner than the others. They were either a lot smaller or similar in age to Peter himself. Not quite an adult yet, he guessed. And when he had Karen scan their heartbeat, it confirmed his suspicion. A teenager, by looks of the speed and strength of their heartbeat. Probably male, but he couldn't be too sure. Zooming in his suit’s ocular lenses, he decided to wait and see how this played out. The situation could peacefully resolve itself, he thought optimistically.

“I told you already,” said the teenager. Yup, definitely a dude. “I’ll get you the rest next week, I just need it now,” he said, his tone almost desperate towards the end. “Please.”  
“That wasn't the deal!” said the woman.  
“I’ll give you extra next week!” exclaimed the teenager. “Please! I just need the coke now!”

Aw, shit. Drug deal. Now Peter had to break it up. Oh well, being sneaky was fun while it lasted. Peter dropped from the rooftop to the ground behind the pair of dealers and said: “Hey guys, I don’t think --”

Before he could finish his quip, the big buff dude (it was, to Peter’s slight disappointment, in fact a dude) pulled a pistol out from nowhere and fired at him, missing his head by an inch or two.

“Now that wasn't very nice!” shouted Peter, before webbing a nearby spare tire (the things you could find in a dirty alley were really helpful sometimes, especially for using as projectiles) and throwing it at the meathead’s chest. The big guy flew back into the alley wall from the strength behind the thrown object and Peter turned his sights to the female dealer.

She was just about to pull something from her coat, probably a firearm, when Peter webbed her hand to her chest. She opted instead to charge at Peter, which would have caught him off guard if Karen didn't give him a heads up. He jumped out of the way just in time, causing the dealer to be put off balance. However, Peter landed in the wrong place, for not a second before opening his mouth for another one-liner, the big guy, who he had landed with his back to, struck him from behind.

Peter stumbled forward, trapped between both dealers. The buyer from before, now in plain view, hadn’t run away, as he would have expected, but was hiding behind a nearby dumpster. Before Peter could think of what to do next, the female dealer charged at him again, and Peter reacted out of pure instinct. He jumped just as she was about to slam into him and landed on her shoulders for a brief second before pushing her back towards the hidden buyer with his legs. The female dealer landed prone beside the dumpster where the buyer was hiding. Great, now for the big dude.

Peter turned to the meathead and pointed a finger at him, before bending his finger towards himself in the universal ‘come at me’ sign. The big guy took the bait and charged. Peter jumped high into the air again, webbed the dumpster behind himself, and slung it forward, where the big guy slammed into it face first. Peter landed on the dumpster lid with a smile, though none could see it through his mask. “Woo hoo!” he shouted. “Spider-man one, drug dealers zero.”

He turned back to the buyer. The teenager was bent over the female dealer, hood concealing his face, and digging something out of her hoodie. It was a small brick of cocaine. Crap! He should really leave that for the police along the dealers as evidence. He was about to approach the guy, ask him to kindly give the drugs to his friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, when the guy looked up and he saw his face under the hood. Shit.

It was Harry. Motherfucking. Osborn.

Shit, shit, shit. What should he do?? Stood frozen, he tried to think of possible outcomes. Shit! What was he supposed to do, deck his crush in the face!? He couldn't do that! What if he gave him a shiner?

While he stood stock still, Karen started to speak. “Peter,” she said. “He’s getting away.” Peter was still stuck in his head as Harry ran off out of the alley. “Peter,” said Karen. “I’m detecting irregular heartbeat and shortness of breath, more that would be usuaual from a fight with two adversaries. Have you been poisoned?”

Peter shook out of it just as Harry left the alley. “N-no, I don’t think… No.” He shot a web at the top of a building and rolled his fingers forward on the web shooter, retracting the web and successfully grappling him to building’s roof. When Peter began free-running the opposite way, Karen spoke.  
“Are you going after him?” she asked.  
“No,” Peter replied. “Let’s just call it a night.”  
Karen was silent for a moment before speaking in her monotone voice. “Okay, Peter.”


	4. now that's what i call angst starring harry osborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, sorry for the wait. y'know. stuff, breakdowns, mental issues. the usual.  
> warning for mention of mild suicidal thoughts.

After a fitful night of sleep, Peter woke to an empty house. Aunt May went to work early on Mondays. A quick shower later, his mind was awake enough to be a turbulent storm of emotions once more, just like last night. 

 

Harry was doing coke. Probably an addict by the look in his eyes and the stutter in his step Maren had picked up on when he ran away, as well as the amount he had taken with him off the dealer. This was so messed up. What was going on with Harry to make him want to do cocaine? Despite barely knowing him, Peter felt he needed to help. Maybe it was the ‘martyr complex’ MJ always loved talking about. (Taking a half-credit class seemed to make MJ an expert in psycho-analyzing.) 

 

This was absolutely, totally fucked up. He wanted to help Harry so,  _ so  _ bad. But he hadn’t even had a full conversation with him. Not to mention the crush he had on him. That had already gotten in the way of talking to him even before he knew about Harry’ drug use. 

 

Peter felt so helpless. He couldn’t tell Ned; he didn’t know about his crush. He couldn’t tell MJ; she didn’t know he was Spider-Man. All in all the situation sucked. 

 

_________________

 

The morning passed just like the weekend had for Peter; he was in constant emotional  _ hell _ . It was worse in English. Harry was absent that day, causing a lot of worrying on his end, and MJ kept looking at him weirdly from across the room. It really wasn’t helping the anxiety, her looking at him like that. His brain kept reading the constant glances as ‘she knows, she knows!’ But that was impossible.

 

At the end of class, MJ did the usual and followed him to Chemistry. She tried to make him laugh a couple of times, making jokes about how the teacher had written ‘ _ Lit is lit!’ _ on the chalkboard, but he wasn’t really listening. He finally paid attention to her when she decided to shove his shoulder. 

 

“Wh-wha?” 

 

“You feel like leaving whatever little world you built up there?” She tapped his temple. 

 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry. I have a lot on my mind,” said Peter. 

 

“Does it have anything to do with Harry Osborn being absent today?”

 

“No, no,” Peter stammered out, a slight blush already creeping its way onto his cheeks. 

 

“You are such a bad liar Pete,” she laughed. They were quiet for a moment as they walked down the hall; some people had gotten too close and, although MJ liked to tease, Peter knew she wouldn’t purposely embarrass him in public by discussing his crush when others could hear. “So,” she said with a smirk, dragging him around the corner by his shoulder so they could talk more in depth away from the river of students flooding the hall. “What are you going to do?”

 

“I- I don’t know what you mean,” Peter said, looking around, the blush still evident on his face. 

 

“I mean…. How are you going to get him?”

 

“I’m- What?”

 

“Come on Parker, don’t be dense; how are you going to seduce Osborn?”

 

“Se- Seduce?” Peter squeaked, the blush spreading to his ear and neck.

 

“Yes, Pete. Seduce. Romance. Woo,” she said, her grin getting bigger with every word. “Y’know. How are we gonna get you the boy?”

 

“I- I don’t- I don’t know!” he exclaimed, the sound of the bell covering up the majority of his shout. “I’m not going to do anything. I’m not…. See you later.” He started to walk backwards to class before turning around and practically running.

 

MJ rolled her eyes. That boy could be so difficult sometimes. She was going to get that dweeb boyfriend whether he wanted to or not. But first, she needed back up. It was time to call in Ned.

  
  


_________________

 

Harry was over it. School, grades, his father’s expectations, all of it. His father, the ‘great’ Norman Osborn, wanted to much of him. Fuck that asshole. If he wanted Harry to do what he wanted of him he shouldn’t be such a dick to him. Sure, maybe Harry was being overdramatic, maybe he was being ‘ungrateful’ as his childhood nanny used to like to say when he complained. But he didn’t care. His dad was a neglectful dickhead and a cold asshat when he actually talked to him. Growing up rich didn’t mean he grew up happy, or loved. 

 

The last straw was when Norman had bought Harry’s way into the smart school on the other side of the city. Norman ripped him from his entire life; his friends (or rather, the people he partied with), his trusted dealers, the one teacher that actually liked him. The bastard even took his car and replaced with a fucking limo and chauffeur. All so he could go to a school where half of the classes he didn’t understand in the slightest. No one talked to him at the new school, not like he cared, but even still. He was surrounded by people much smarter than him that had much brighter futures. He was lucky if he fucking lasted until adulthood if he didn’t fucking kill himself by then. Where was the fun in a life where he could have anything?

 

So he had taken to being a recluse. He hadn’t even moved out to Queens for more than a couple of weeks and he already felt so much different than before. He used to party, he used to fill the hole in his heart with drinks and joyrides at three in the morning, used to be able to stomp down the feelings of loneliness and despair and pretend it wasn’t there. Now…. now, he stayed in his apartment all day and did coke, trying to distract himself from the all consuming black pit in his chest with the rush of adrenaline and the random ideas for stories he wrote down that didn’t make any sense when he was sober.

 

Harry was about to do it again, the cocaine in a line on his coffee table in front of him when he got distracted by what had happened on Saturday. He was getting more coke from some street dealers who had been good to him the week before, trying to explain in Russian (that he learned as a kid from his nannies as a kid) that he would get the rest of the money to them when his father sent next month’s allowance. The bastard had seen how much he was depositing from his account and had cut him off from the account, sending him only a certain amount every month. But the dealer was having none of it, and he could tell from her face she was about to sick her huge lapdog on him, when out of nowhere came the dude in tights. He had read about him in the newspaper; the dude was a vigilante, a self proclaimed ‘super-hero’, like the Avengers. The paper called him ‘the Spider-Man’ or something. He didn’t really know how red and blue was supposed to read as ‘spider’ but, well, whatever. The guy saved his skin and helped him get the coke too. He had enough to last a couple weeks thanks to him.

 

However, Harry was pretty sure the spider-dude had seen him take the coke and bolt, and he was also pretty sure that the guy was going to go after him. But he never did. Must not be a very good hero then, he thought. Oh well, weirdness aside, he owed the spider-guy. If it wasn’t for him he wouldn’t have the line in front of him. He was really tired of the shakes the withdrawals were giving him. Harry knew he was probably addicted. But he deserved it.

 

He leaned towards the table and put the rolled up dollar in his nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are happening, MJ is scheming. Harry is the spitting image of stereotypical rich boy teen angst. I like to imagine that he recognizes that and hates himself even more because of it.
> 
> Yeah so it is pretty obvious that Harry has issues. I won't go too deep into it because this isn't supposed to be super angsty or a harry osborn whump fic, but there will be mentions of him having depression and mild suicidal thoughts. And, of course, substance use. Just a warning for those sensitive for it.
> 
> thanks, tom.
> 
> (my [tumblr.](http://spacewitcch.tumblr.com) )


	5. you are not welcome to harry’s twisted mind. please leave.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more in delth look into Harry’s circumstances and thoughts. And an unexpected project (or problem?).

Harry liked to think of himself as interesting, a person of speciality outside of the influence his family name had given him. He liked to think he had a distinguishable voice in the sea of like-minded people who neglected their critical thinking skills, picturesque character taken from a Tartt novel thrust into the cruel sucker-punch that was reality.

At his old school, full of the stereotypical snobby rich kids and underachievers who would live off their inheritance, he felt unique; where most kids used their parent’s influence or money to gain good grades, Harry thoroughly enjoyed literature and history classes, always trying to learn the most about his favored subjects. He was a liberal arts junkie, always staying in the library scouring the shelves for anything and everything on Ancient Greece, Rome, Tolkien, etc. He enjoyed writing, both fiction and poetry, and carried around a notebook everywhere he went in case he had a sudden epiphany that he needed to write down before he inevitably forgot it completely.

He saw himself as interesting; he could one day be a professor or journalist instead of ending up like his peers and having to follow in his parent’s footsteps. But, despite, and quite possibly because of, these goals he still fell into the ‘party’ scene. His father was putting pressure on Harry to do what was expected and take up the family business. The asshole had taken his car away, had made him intern for a summer at the company, and had made him leave his book club. Harry was, predictably, upset about it. And what harm could come from a little healthy teenage rebellion?

So he had found some cool people he vaguely new and they had introduced to the penthouse parties, the cigarettes, the coke, the joyrides. It was fun as fuck. He stayed up until daybreak, hung out with people who practically worshipped him, got so high out his mind that he didn't even have to think about his dad’s switching attitudes between intense neglect and random volleys of emotional abuse whenever he was in town. It had all been so much fun until a single night, a Thursday night in the middle of September.

He remembered the night pretty vividly in spite of his semi-drunken haze. He had went home early from a party at his friend Eliza’s because the hostess in question had really pissed him off by throwing his favorite copy of _the Iliad_ off of her balcony. He had come home and his father was there. Norman had wanted to ‘talk with him’ (more like ‘to him’) about his behavior. Harry’s grades had been slumping and, according to his chauffeur Bernie, he was being ‘troublesome’ lately. An argument had ensued, like it usually did when they were in the same room with each other, but Norman had stayed firm. He was going to go to a smart school in Queens, because it would look good on a college application.

And, like usual, an argument Harry had was shut down and he was sent away with an angry slap to face and a new chauffeur. The new place was some penthouse where he lived alone except for the maid who stayed over on weekends to clean when Harry didn’t just pay her to stay home. (He knew his father had paid her to keep an eye on him and, while he resented that, she also was a very sweet woman who had kids of her own.

Harry’s alarm clock shook him out of his thoughts. He was always reflecting, never getting over the things that happened to him in the past. It was a bad habit of his to over analyze things long past.He had thought so much he hadn’t slept, another thing that he allowed too much of in his life, a self-destructive luxury he all-too-much loved to gorge himself on. Great, he wasn’t only (probably) addicted to cocaine, but also being a self-loathing trainwreck.

Wonderful, he thought as he stood up from his bed, another night of no sleep already being felt by his eyes and dry mouth. His head hurt. He had spent all night watching videos on YouTube of that Spider-Man guy. It intrigued him, the whole idea of dressing up in a suit to help people you didn’t know. Maybe he was a cynic, but it was so… altruistic and ridiculous. Maybe he had grown up too fast or too harshly, but Harry had given up on the idea that you could help everyone with their problems.

His over dramatic monologue was cut short when he picked up and glanced at his phone. He was going to be late for school, the fourth time since he moved here. Rather than get up in a flurry and try to get dressed quickly, he sighed and took his time. The new chauffeur, Jack, (a younger guy than Bernie was, in his early thirties) was probably waiting on him in the lobby. He bet if he checked, there was probably a text from him too. With another mournful sigh, he slipped on his jacket and grabbed his journal from the coffee table.

_________________

MJ was staring again. Why did she do that so much. She enjoyed torturing Peter much more than he enjoyed it. He eyes were like a hawk, examining him with the intensity an artist gave it’s artwork. Oh, ew, no, that analogy made him feel weird, like he was a puppet and MJ was the puppeteer. He almost outwardly shuddered.

Harry wasn’t here again, which put him on edge, but not as bad as it did yesterday. He was pretty sure he could keep the whole ‘I’m creepily worried about a guy he barely knew’ thing under control. Wait, fuck.

Harry had to ruin that by coming to class late, walking in wearing a scarf up to his chin and holding a cold Starbucks coffee despite the autumn chill in the air. He looked pale and, with his enhanced senses, Peter could tell by his musk that he hadn’t showered in a day or two. The teacher made some chide remark about him late and some of the other students whispered to each other, but Harry’s entrance was otherwise ignored and the teacher continued his discussion on Mary Shelley.

Peter could feel his heart speeding up the moment Harry sat down in front of him. He could also feel the stare of MJ buring into the side of his skull.

God dammit, he thought. She’s gonna want to talk about this again when class ends.

“Peter?”

His chin fell out of his hand he was holding it in and his head slightly dropped. “Wha?” Some snickering from Flash’s friends in the back ensued the teacher, Mr. Greene, ignored them.

“You’re with Harry in front of you. For the project. That you probably were too far in your own head to listen to the instructions of. Anyways,” he continued on, listing off other classmate’s partners.

 _Oh fuck_ , Peter thought. He glanced at the chalkboard, which read:

_‘FRANKENSTEIN’ PROJECT:_  
_In a mimicry of the gathering of Mary Shelley, her husband, Lord Byron, and their peers where they discussed writing ghost stories that led to the birth of Shelley’s hit novel, students will team up with a classmate and write a ghost story of their own._

_Oh fuck_ , he thought again.

Harry seemed to be writing in a notebook in front of him, but there was no doubt in Peter’s mind that he was about to turn around and talk to him. It was evident by the number of questions Harry answered that he actually cared about his grade in this class. MJ used to even joke that she finally had a worthy rival in the knowledge of classic literature. And if Peter didn’t sober up quick, Harry was going to think he was some drooling mess that was going to mess his grade up. Fuck.

Before Harry could turn around, Peter glanced at MJ. She was grinning like an idiot, a rare sight to see on her face. She broke eye contact with him for a second to pull out her phone and, not a second later, Peter’s own phone buzzed.

_From: MJ_  
_go get em tiger_

Peter felt like he could die right then and there, because, before he could put his phone back in his pocket, Harry turned and said, “Hey. Peter right?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you couldn’t tell, Harry is not acurate to any of the previous incarnations he has been shown in, as I wanted to reimagine him into the MCU in my own way.  
> He’s a semi-self aware tope, a stereotypical rich boy with a neglectful daddy and substance problems. He’s got a twist of course, in that he’s not just a snobby party boy; he’s got a hole in his heart that his ol’ pop carved out himself, which he tries to fill by distracting himself with irresponsible behavior. He’s a little paradoxical, in that he thinks everyone is better than him, but also has minor delusions of grandeur. He’s a little confusing, at least to Peter&Co, but It’ll make sense. Eventually. I hope. Stick with me y’all! (I just used y’all unironically and posted a long note, sorry. I drank too much caffeine.)


	6. Peter Parker: The Suavest Teenage Boy Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is invited to the gang's lunch table. Then he's invited to Peter's apartment. Oh Boy.

Peter Parker was an alright guy by Harry’s standards. Smart, but not an asshole about it. He was nice too, though a little awkward and clumsy. He stuttered when he talked sometimes and fiddled with his pen a lot, like he was filled with nervous energy.  And he seemed to hate eye contact. But all in all, he was fine enough for a project partner. It was pretty clear that Peter wasn’t a writer, more of a science type, but Harry could work with that as long as he didn’t leave all the work for Harry to do. While he was capable of doing the entire project himself, he knew if he didn’t have someone doing it with him he’d take his time and miss the due date. So he’d need Peter to at least proofread. What he didn’t expect after meeting Peter was to be asked to eat lunch at the guy’s table. 

It wasn’t even Peter that asked, but his friend Michelle. Peter had seemed as taken aback as Harry was, but after Harry looked at him to confirm what Michelle was asking, Peter nodded in the same flurry of nervousness all of his other actions had. Usually during lunch Harry either took it with him outside to smoke or avoided the cafeteria completely, so to be asked to eat with Peter and his friends was somewhat of a shock. He barely even knew these two, yet he still agreed to the invitation. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get some of the project done early by discussing with Peter what their story should be about. And, hell, even he would admit that he  _ was  _ kinda lonely. 

So, to put in simpler terms, fuck it. 

 

**_____________**

 

“Over here!” a voice shouted. It was Michelle, beckoning with her hand from across the room, where she was seated between Peter and, presumably, their other friend Ned. Harry walked over and was immediately bombarded with questions from the presumed-Ned. 

“You’re Harry Osborn? How rich are you? How many cars do you own? Did your dad-” 

He was interrupted by Michelle. “Give the boy-billionaire some space, Ned. You’ll scare him off.”

Giving a grateful glance to Michelle, Harry sat across from Peter and put his bag in the seat beside him. “So, this is the infamous ‘loser squad’ that I hear about from that prick Flash, right? Or am I at the wrong table?”

“Flash talks about us? Man, what is that guy's problem?” said Peter. 

“Probably dropped on the head when he was a baby,” Harry replied casually. “But yeah, he patters on about you guys to his friends in my fifth period. I sit right behind him and it’s a little hard to ignore when every other sentence ends with some type of insult. I will give him points for creative adjectives though.” They all stared at him for a second, Michelle smirking while the other two gaped a bit. “What?” 

Peter closed his mouth, audibly gulped, then spoke. “It’s nothing, nothing. Just…. This is the most I’ve ever heard you speak.”

“Oh,” said Harry, feeling a slight blush on his cheeks at that. Dammit, he was so impulsive he hadn’t even properly introduced himself before he starting gabbing. “Sorry.”

“No, no. Don’t worry about. You have, uh, a nice voice, and uh. Yeah.” Peter broke eye contact and started stuffing his face. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ned and Michelle glance at each other before Michelle’s smirk grew, as well as Ned’s confused expression. 

Lunch went just like that, with Ned and Michelle sharing a lot of glances while Peter seemed to be a nervous wreck. Harry guessed that, by the lack of eye contact and ridiculous amount of gulps, that Peter must be worried about befriending him. Truthfully, Harry felt similar, though he was much better at hiding it than the other boy. Peter had to be the worst with keeping secrets, he guessed. Despite this, Peter was good at keeping up conversation. Ned and Michelle were too, though they both seemed to be a little distracted with texting someone. He liked them, though. They weren’t dull like most people he talked to, but also were not dicks about smart they were. 

They were….casual, having a group dynamic already in play that Harry somehow easily slid into. Michelle was sarcastic as hell and would usually compliment whatever subject Ned brought up with a quip of some sort. Harry didn’t feel as dragged down with them as he did most people; they were as quick as he was, keeping up perfectly. Harry didn’t feel forced like he did when most people talked to him, and they allowed him to remain silent when he wanted to. Peter liked to stare a lot, though. Harry couldn’t help be a little off put by Peter’s quick looks. Not enough for it to affect the opinion Harry was forming of the other boy, since he had marked up to new-friend jitters, but it still made him question if he had something stuck in his teeth. 

 

**____________**

 

Peter, in a moment of absolute scrambled thoughts, invited Harry over after school. He wasn’t going out as Spider-man today, his homework load too heavy to worry about anything but that.He really hoped that nothing bad happened while he was away from the city. He was slightly more anxious, however, at the presence of Harry in his home. He hoped Harry, who grew up rich alongside heiresses and heirs in the Upper East Side, didn’t judge his small apartment. But, thankfully, Harry made no comment about the place when he entered. 

In fact, neither of them spoke much the first couple minutes of Harry being in Peter’s place. Harry sat on the couch and Peter, after cleaning up just a little, sat nearby with his leg bouncing almost as fast as his heartbeat. He kept trying to think of ways to start conversation, but before he could ever actually think of a formed sentence, he’d start thinking about Harry’s cocaine problem. When he thought about it, he would start staring, looking at Harry’s posture and wondering if he was high right now. Peter didn’t know much about cocaine use, but had googled it and symptoms just so he would know and be able to tell when Harry might be on it. He totally wasn’t a creep, definitely not. (Just a concerned friend… even though he hadn’t known Harry for more than a day.) Harry wasn’t super jittery and his eyes weren’t blown out, but—

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” said Harry. Peter snapped from his thoughts. (He was spacey lately. Had he forgotten to take his Adderall again?) 

“Yeah, yeah. I might, I have a camera,” he said. Shit, why did he say that, it sounded creepy. Stupid, stupid!

“Really? Are you a photographer?” Harry asked.

“Uh, yeah. Well, I’m just starting out. I just got the camera a couple weeks ago because of good grades for the first quarter.” (How the hell Peter was still able to get all A’s on his report card amidst all of the stuff with Liz’s dad, he had no clue.) 

“That’s cool. I don’t have a lot of hobbies, but I write sometimes.” 

“Ah, you should show me something you’ve written sometime,” said Peter. Instantly, Peter could tell saying that made him nervous. He could smell the sweat of his palms clearly and, when he focused on it, he heard his heartbeat quicken slightly. “I mean, only if you want to.”

“Yeah, I’ll, uh, think about it,” Harry said, rubbing his arm. “Anyways about this project.”

“Yeah?”  

“So we have to write a ghost story.”

“Yeah?” Peter thought Harry’s eyes were very…. Distracting. So distracting that he really didn’t hear any of what Harry said after that. 

“You still there?” Harry asked, waving his hand in front of Peter’s face.

“Yeah, yeah! Uhm. I, I trust your judgment dude. You’re the writer.” Harry frowned slightly at that. Shit, he needed to make a recovery. “But, that doesn't mean you’ll be doing all of the work!”

“Alright, cool. Let’s get started then,” Harry said.

 

Shit, this week working with Harry was gonna be more difficult than he first thought.


	7. The Introspective Hour, featuring Peter Parker and Harry Osborn

Moments after Harry left his apartment, Peter hopped onto his computer, a burning question taking residence in the foreground of his mind. He opened Google and typed ‘How to tell when someone is flirting with you’. He closed the tab before he could even look at the results. The idea that Harry liked him, ludicrous. What was he thinking. He definitely hadn’t been flirting…. had he? No, no. There was just no way. He wasn’t his type, Peter though. He wasn’t anyone’s type. He was way too awkward and nerdy to be. Harry was cool. Rich. Fashionable. There was no way he’d ever be caught with a guy who wore Star Wars pajamas and Chemistry pun shirts, a guy like Peter.

He sighed. His mind was in a whirlwind. Harry had taken the lead with their project, but Peter made sure not to slack off and space out too much during the hour and a half they worked together. It was clear Harry was a good writer the moment he started describing what they should do for the short story. They were no doubt going to ace the project, even if they barely put in any effort. But Peter really wanted to spend more time with Harry, he couldn’t deny himself that desire. He wasn’t sure if it because of his crush or because of his ever present urge to help people, in this case to help Harry with his cocaine issue.

He always wanted to help people, something MJ had once offhand said was his fatal flaw. It was the major reason, along with some advice from his uncle shortly before his death, that he had become Spider-Man; he wanted more than anything to make other people’s lives a better place, even if it was through as small as an action as stopping someone from stealing a person's bike.

Helping Harry, however, was going to be complicated than stopping a bike thief. He had to figure out some way to help the other boy without revealing that he knew about the addiction in the first place. And he had no clue how to do it by himself.

He had never been great at talking to people, so trying to subtly drop hints that he was there for Harry was a plan for inevitable disaster in his mind. He would never be able to do that. In any other circumstances, he would ask either Ned or MJ for advice, but it wasn’t his place to reveal Harry’s secret to him. Doing that would make him feel way too guilty. He was at such a miss on what to do.

Peter slumped in his chair, idly kicking his desk with his legs. The white glow of the computer screen beckoned his attention. Maybe a little downtime with some video games could clear his head and help him think of a game plan.

 

**_______________**

 

Writing had always been there for Harry. An outlet where he could create a whole world, somewhere he could let the continuous stream of observations and criticisms pool into and saturate. Sometimes he had epiphanies, moments of an almost ethereal clarity, where he would grab for his laptop or a notebook in a flurry of anxious movements and write and write and write until that moment would leave him in the same suddenness it came to him, like sand slipping from his clenched fist. Most of the writings became short stories, ones so intimate he kept them in nondescript files where only his critical eyes could gaze on the words. They were filled with all of his deep shit, like feelings about neglectful fathers and dead mothers.

He reread them sometimes, the stories and entries he had written. The older ones, from before he had started partying back in the Upper East Side, were alright, but lacked anything exciting.

Of the newer ones, most were unfinished and bordered on unreadable. Lately, he got the inspiration to write when high, all jittery and energetic and uncharacteristically hopeful that he’d finally write something that he would enjoy and not hate. But those projects usually turned into ramblings about anything and everything. Henry the Fifth. Fictional accounts of what Captain America was up to during his current exile. Overly passionate words claiming that, yes, Achilles and Patroclus were undoubtedly in love.

He never could focus enough when he was high to actually write something that wasn’t an unintelligible stream of consciousness. When he was sober, he could barely find motivation to do anything, let alone actually put in effort into work.

So, the project he had with Peter Parker made him nervous. He was filled with self doubt, a bit more than usual. He was afraid he was going to bomb the writing assignment, and get both himself and Peter terrible grades. He really couldn’t afford terrible grades; Norman had been very clear what would happen if he repeated the mistakes of the previous semester at his old school. He didn’t want that punishment to be any closer to the realm of possibility than it was already at.

He wasn’t entirely sure if he was stressing himself out or if it was indeed the circumstances that was causing the pressure to not fail this assignment. Perhaps it was a mix of both. Regardless, he refused to screw this up, more for Peter’s sake than his own. The faith the other boy had obviously put in him for this project, although misplaced in Harry’s own opinion, was sweet. He was starting to like Peter Parker.

The thing was, he wasn’t sure if these budding feelings were reciprocated; although Peter was very shy, blushing or laughing nervously when Harry spoke to him, he genuinely wasn’t sure if Peter had a crush on him or if he was genuinely that socially awkward. Harry was usually pretty adept at reading people, but Peter was so goddamn fidgety and slightly manic all of the time it made him hard to solidly analyze.

Harry honestly doubted he would act on the emerging crush he might have on Parker; he was a disaster just waiting to destroy the other boy’s life. His life was a trainwreck, he didn’t need to cause someone else’s to become one too. Besides, what would a normal kid like Peter see in an arrogant, self-absorbed asshole like himself? He would probably bore the kid to death in a day from complaining about his problems, or scare him away with his cocaine dependency. It would be better to just keep his feelings to himself until they blew over. 

**Author's Note:**

> Edit 11/20/28: I am in the process of revising the currently posted chapters before re-releasing them, after which I will continue updating the story. I apologize for the long absence. I've been trying to balance my mental health with college as well as grieving over the deaths of two close friends that I've lost this year. I'm finally at a point now where I'm up to writing again, but I feel the past chapters need revision before I continue to update. My concept for this work had grown since it's original posting, as has my skill in writing and I want the previous chapters to reflect that. Thank you for your patience and your understanding, Tom. :^)


End file.
